


A Witch on Errantry

by arioso_dolente



Series: Young Witches [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Coming of Age, Crossover, F/F, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-23 23:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arioso_dolente/pseuds/arioso_dolente
Summary: “Hermione Granger approached wizardry the same way she would anything else: with straightforward, impeccable logic. Happily for her, the Art suited that just fine.” Hermione is a wizard as well as a witch. AU, HP/YW crossover. Eventual Hermione/Luna.





	A Witch on Errantry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (much-delayed) challenge fic for willam and jack and jake, who requested a Young Wizards/Harry Potter crossover in which Hermione is both a witch and wizard and meets her partner at Hogwarts. I'm sorry it took this long, but I hope you enjoy. It goes without saying, of course, that this is AU with an eventual (but non-explicit) Hermione/Luna pairing.
> 
> Also, this is not betaed, so if you notice any mistakes (or missed Britpicks), let me know!

Hermione Granger approached wizardry the way she would anything else: with straightforward, impeccable logic.

Happily for her, the Art suited that just fine.

It had begun in the library, as most of her important revelations tended, though she had to admit the magnitude of this one rather deviated from her usual norm. The moment itself, however, was quite ordinary. She’d been picking through a trolley of books to be shelved, looking for nothing in particular, when her hand dislodged a book and sent it tumbling to the floor. It was a battered kids’ book, one in one of those career series, smiling well-scrubbed people gesturing impressively gracing the cover. Hermione had just picked up the book, brushing dust from it, when her eyes absently caught the title: _So You Want to Be a Wizard._

“Huh,” she murmured and flipped to the table of contents, recalling the floating objects, the favourite jumper that had regained its colour after her mother had accidentally spilled bleach on it, all the other little oddities of her life that tickled the back of her mind. She wondered idly whether whatever magic tricks this book contained would have anything to do with _that_.

She’d expected to find just that: tricks, frivolities, sleights of hand, the closest the admittedly ordinary world could approximate to wizardry. What she found instead were chapter titles like _“On Temporal-Spatial Intersections and Their Practical Implications”_ and _“Dreams, Prophecy, and Divination: A Primer”_ and _“The Speech’s Enactive and Imperative Moods and Their Uses in Spellwork.”_ For a moment, she could only stare.

“Huh,” she said again. “How about that.”

And that was all the deliberation it took.

~*~

It wasn’t long after she had begun brewing the Polyjuice Potion, after almost knocking her over in the corridor near Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, that Hermione Granger really met Luna Lovegood for the first time.

“Er—hello.” Hermione regarded the girl, a first year who looked vaguely familiar. “Sorry, did you need something?” She wore Ravenclaw colours. “Help with homework?”

The girl’s gaze darted over to Ron and Harry, who were sitting with Hermione at the Gryffindor table and looking mildly confused. Her eyes, silvery grey and almost bulbous, moved to fix on Hermione’s. “I am on errantry,” she said, slowly, as if testing the words, “and I greet you.”

~*~

Of all the things about wizardry that Hermione loved, she probably loved reading her manual the most.

There was always something different to find in it. That probably should have frustrated her, that sensation of only ever skimming the surface of its breadth of knowledge (here were the main classes of spells and their subclasses, only new ones kept getting added all the time; here were all the different tenses of the Speech and their historical uses; here was a brief history of the gating facilities on Rirhath B and how it had affected the local economy; here was the _actual_ history of Hogwarts, in which Rowena Ravenclaw had been a Senior Wizard, and had had to guide several students through their Ordeals, leaving faint traces of her own spells on the castle’s very stonework that could still be found if you only took the time to _listen_ in the Speech—)

Hermione should have been frustrated at that, at turning a page and only ever finding fresh ones behind it that weren’t there before. The manual simply never ran out, but she couldn’t be upset about that, because really it was all still there, the knowledge just waiting for her to ask for it. Some days, when she’d finished her homework and Harry was off at Quidditch practice, she would curl up in one of the common room’s cavernous armchairs and just _read_ until finally she would look up from a softly glowing page, startled, to find the candles extinguished and the students all gone to bed.

Of course, even if Harry was increasingly occupied (apparently Wood had been entertaining ever fonder notions of winning the Cup since Harry had joined the team), Ron still noticed her preoccupation and wheedled her periodically to do something else for a change.

“C’mon Hermione,” he said one evening. “You know we haven’t got any assignments on. Or if we have, you’ve already done them. Come play a game of chess with me.”

Hermione did look up then, her thumb wedged in the book. “If you really want to. If you don’t gloat too much when you win,” she said. Chess was one thing Ron was unequivocally better at than anyone else, so she tried to indulge him when she could. Still, her perfectionist streak made her dislike losing to him every time.

His mouth curved up, shyly. “I’ve got a new set of Gobstones we could break in. That’s more a game of luck than anything.” He looked at Hermione’s book, and suddenly she wondered what he was thinking. Would he see the cover she’d seen once? Did he wonder why she was reading a Muggle children’s book?

“ _Annals of Arithmancy_?” he said. “Merlin’s beard, Hermione, you don’t procrastinate. We don’t take elective courses till third year, you know.”

She shrugged, doing her best to hide her surprise. “You know me, can’t resist a good read.”

“If you say so,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Anyway, chess? Gobstones? Please?”

“Gobstones,” she said. “But hang on for a bit? I want to finish this section.”

Tonight she was in the middle of a section on elemental wizardry. She read on, shivering, about Angelina Pellegrino, the legendary hydromage who’d once worked one of the great wizardries of the past century on the Mediterranean Sea, and had nearly died for it. She had died young anyway, not long after that working. _“Elemental affinities are some of the least-understood_ _and most dangerous branches of the Art,”_ she read. _“The surrender of one’s individual control to the element is generally required for the stronger workings, and most species—certainly most hominid ones—tend to balk at the loss of such control. Elemental mages command immense power, but often at the cost of their own personal happiness, should their element push them too far. Though certain elements as fire and plasma have more of a reputation of being overly wilful with their mortal hosts, even the so-called gentler elements can still prove dangerous to the unready wizard, as Pellegrino found to great effect and great tragedy.”_

She closed her eyes and tried to picture it, as the manual was saying. The wording in the Speech implied not merely the _using_ of an element, but _becoming_ it. No wonder it was stressful for the wizard involved. She wondered how it would be, to feel the water in an entire sea, to move it and change it seemingly effortlessly as solo wizards normally couldn’t. Only it wouldn’t have been effortless, really, because Pellegrino had _become_ it, had felt the waves on miles of coastline as she had felt her own body, had tasted the salt and current. She would have known how it was to be vast and capricious and eternal even as she was still simultaneously small and human.

Hermione shook her head, disquieted. She wondered how the manual could consider that anything approaching _gentle_.

~*~

“Hang on, Harry,” said Hermione, levitating Harry to his camp bed with her wand. She scrabbled for her manual, keeping one hand on the wound, his blood leaking slowly through her fingers. Around it, the skin was slowly turning black and her stomach turned. They’d prepared for their trip with supplies of dittany and a few basic healing potions, but now she felt they might as well be cotton balls.

She grabbed their kitchen knife and slashed her palm in one fluid motion as the manual flipped its pages to the correct spell. She swallowed, sending a quick desperate prayer to the Powers and began to read.

~*~

Sometimes it was true that Hermione spent her hours in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet maintaining the Polyjuice Potion. But actually, the potion didn’t require that much maintenance. It had a formidable ingredients list, certainly, and a long brewing time, but most of the time it needed little attention. So Hermione took advantage of the solitude for some general identifying spells, something that might tell her just who or what had opened the Chamber of Secrets. She didn’t quite agree with the boys that Malfoy would know anything about it—whatever it was seemed older and far more sinister.

“What’s that?” Myrtle sprawled in mid-air, resting her chin in her hands and regarding Hermione with interest.

Hermione finished writing her name in chalk on the floor, sealing the diagram with a wizard’s knot. “It’s a spell,” she said vaguely. The diagram lit up as the spell activated, and she bent to study the new lines in the Speech busily writing themselves beside her entries. She frowned, wondering if she was reading them right. _A possession . . .?_

Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, I _see_ that,” she said. “It just doesn’t look like anything a little second year like you should know how to do. Isn’t it still third year when you lot take Ancient Runes?” She drifted closer. “Actually, even that looks rather complex for Ancient Runes—at least the sort they teach here.”

“I like to read ahead.” Hermione grabbed her manual and paged to the Speech-English vocabulary section to check her translation.

“You’re not getting into things you shouldn’t, are you? Do I need to talk to Nick? Although, he isn’t much for discipline . . .”

“I know what I’m doing.” Hermione set the manual aside, reaching for a notebook she kept for this specific purpose. She took a self-inking quill (biros having an irritating tendency to clog at Hogwarts) and wrote a summary of the spell’s results in a concise shorthand version of the Speech. She considered for a moment, scowling. A possession, then. But by what? And who was the unlucky victim? There was no way to tell—yet. She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. “Need to do more research.”

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “Right. You’re very good at dodging questions, aren’t you? Of course _you_ think you know what you’re doing, you’re Miss Perfect. That why you’re sat here in the middle of my toilet, which, by the way, no one ever visits, so you can know what you’re doing without any pesky teachers to tell you otherwise?”

“I just—don’t need to be bothered.” Hermione gathered up the raw spell supplies and started to put them back in her bag. Funny, that here at Hogwarts eye of newt should be so much easier to come by than its usual substitutes—alkaline batteries, to name a common one.

“Oh, is that it?” Myrtle straightened to a vertical position. “So sorry if I’m _bothering_ you, then! I didn’t ask you to come into my toilet, intrude on my m-misery . . .” She turned and started sobbing theatrically.

 _Crap._ “Myrtle—”

“I mean, it’s not _my_ fault I’m haunting a toilet! You think I wanted to spend my afterlife here? Just because it happens to be the place where I—” here Myrtle took a melodramatic gulp: _“—d-died.”_

“I didn’t mean you,” said Hermione. Then, because she couldn’t let herself utter something so dangerously close to a lie, she added hastily, “Not necessarily, I mean. I just—I don’t want people finding out and asking a lot of questions. It’d be . . . really awkward.” That at least was true, if an understatement. She had a sudden idea. “Myrtle, can I trust you not to tell anyone I’m doing spells in here? It could be like our secret, just the two of us.”

It was the right thing to say. Myrtle literally brightened. “Ooh, I love secrets! Can we have code phrases to use? There was a war on when I died, you know, and they did a lot of that sort of thing in those days. It’d be so exciting!”

Hermione blinked. “Erm—sure, Myrtle,” she said. “I don’t know if I could come up with any, but I’m sure you would know some good ones. We can try them out.”

Myrtle beamed.

Hermione smiled back, a little uneasily. Getting up, she started to rub out the chalk lines with her foot, though their luminous impressions remained—those would fade in a few minutes. She dropped manual and notebook into her bag and closed it.

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice echoed off the walls of the room. “Are you in here?”

Hermione turned to Myrtle. “Remember, our secret.” Myrtle nodded eagerly. She raised her voice. “Yeah, Ron?”

“I was just talking to Harry—” Ron stopped, seeing Myrtle. “Oh. Er, hi, Myrtle.” He was still skittish around her after the incident at the deathday party. “I was just talking to Harry and he says he’s got a firework from Fred and George, so he’ll be able to distract Snape next Potions class while you get the ingredients. Is that the Polyju—wait, what’s that?” His eyes fixed on the lingering diagram, brow furrowing.

Hermione moved in front of him to block his view, starting to walk him back toward the door. “Ron, I really need to go now, I’ve got some research that can’t wait. Want to walk to the library with me? You’ve got work that needs doing, I’m sure.”

Ron frowned. “Sure, sure,” he said, still staring as Hermione herded him out the door. “Only, what _is_ that? Doesn’t look like any homework I’ve ever seen before.”

Hermione gave him one last shove and he stumbled a little. She closed the door on the spell diagram. Ron couldn’t read the Speech, of course, so he wouldn’t be able to make sense of the diagram’s many gracefully rendered annotations, but even he could see the fiery lines drawn in intricate geometric patterns on the floor. “Honestly, Ronald, if you don’t want to do the research, you can’t be surprised when you don’t know things. And if you only do your homework and nothing else, you’ll never get anywhere.” Hermione had found that the secret to not lying (which was safest when you worked with the Speech on a regular basis) was misdirection through careful doses of the truth. Which truth, and how relevant it actually was, was key.

Behind them, Myrtle giggled, poking her head out through the closed door. “Ooh, that’s you told!”

Hermione shot her a warning look.

Ron goggled at Hermione. “You already do all the homework and you decide the best thing is to do _more_ work? Have I ever told you how scary you are?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Every day, Ron.” On a sudden thought, she opened her bag, sighing—her spell ingredients needed replenishing. “Actually, why don’t you go ahead? I need to stop by the greenhouses first.”

Ron shook his head. “You know Hermione, that Herbology essay’s not due for another two weeks.”

“It’s not good to fall behind,” she said, wondering when her conversations with Ron had been reduced to clichés. She made a shooing motion at him. “Now go on, find Harry, I’ll be along in a bit. I know _you_ still have a Charms essay to write.”

He ambled off, still giving her a befuddled look over his shoulder. Hermione waved before turning and almost ploughing into a first year Ravenclaw girl skipping down the corridor. “Oops! Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” said the girl, unperturbed. She tucked long blonde hair behind her ears and continued on, humming softly to herself.

~*~

Hermione noted Harry’s story about meeting the hooded figure in the Forbidden Forest with apprehension, but little surprise. Her mind strayed to her Advisory’s words: _Attending this school is a significant commitment. It may mean your Ordeal will last longer than you were expecting. It might even represent the beginning of a long-term assignment . . ._ She’d been waiting a good several months for the Ordeal, had been frankly worried it wouldn’t come—the manual made it sound like they ordinarily proceeded soon after taking the Oath, not several months and a Christmas holiday after the fact.

“There’s summat in here that shouldn’ be,” Hagrid had said, and Hermione could believe it. She had felt it in the air, had seen the trees of the Forest cringing away from the spot as they whispered in the Speech: _“Something new has come here, something that’s not quite alive and not quite dead.”_

 _And what could you do about it?_ came a nasty voice in her head that she almost didn’t recognize. _You, a little fledgling wizardling, who knows but a few words of the Speech and some cheap first-year magic tricks? You are well out of your league, little girl._

No, wait. That _wasn’t_ her own voice.

It was rich, triumphant, scornful. _Don’t even try,_ said the Lone Power. _You must know it’s pointless. Surely you’ve already seen that you don’t belong here at this school, try as you might to fit in. You’re still just a common Muggle girl to them anyway, someone who reads too many textbooks in a vain effort to compensate. You should learn to quit while you can. Why should you be any more effective as a wizard? I have been at this game a lot longer than you have. Or could ever hope to be._

“No,” she whispered.

Harry stilled in his pacing by the common room fire. He and Ron turned to look at her.

“Hermione?” said Ron.

Hermione shook her head. She couldn’t answer.

~*~

An Undetectable Extension Charm? Hermione fought the urge to laugh even as she said it, hoping the boys wouldn’t catch on to the less-than-firm implication she’d made. She was good, but she wasn’t _that_ good. It was odd sometimes which things worked better with simple magic and which with wizardry, but this was a clear example of the latter. She patted the beaded bag, its woven outer netting of the Speech glittering almost imperceptibly. The claudication contained within buzzed.

She grasped the zip fastener, where a small object was secured with a wizard’s knot. It was shaped like a tiny lightening bolt, and could almost be mistaken for a lost charm from a charm bracelet, except that it was glowing faintly and, when examined closely, proved to be made not of metal, but of thousands of complex lines in the Speech. Hermione hoped she would never have to use it. Power lay within it, dormant, but it would demand more if it was used, and as with any truly impressive spell, its price was high.

Still. She’d prepared in every other way she could; she couldn’t not prepare in this. _The Lone One’s not going to hold anything back,_ she thought. _Nor should I._

~*~

Since taking the Oath and becoming a wizard, Hermione had been expecting her Ordeal to involve a great quest or saving a species—something important and satisfyingly dangerous. Receiving a letter from a “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” struck her as more than a bit anticlimactic. So Hermione very calmly fetched her manual and sought a second opinion.

Sarah Egan, post-graduate student and Advisory, frowned and pushed a plate of biscuits at her. “You say you’ve just received this letter yesterday? How much information did it contain?”

Hermione snorted and reached for one of the jam-filled ones. “Not much. You want to see it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I was assuming it was a joke. It’s just that it seems pretty elaborate for one.” Hermione set down the biscuit and rummaged in her bag for the envelope. She handed it over. “It said they’d be paying a visit later this week to talk to my parents, so I suppose I’ll find out then. I’ve not bothered saying anything to my parents. They don’t know about the wizardry, anyway.”

“Discussing these things with our parents is often difficult.” Sarah grimaced. “Relations with mine are still awkward. They don’t believe I’m worshipping Satan anymore, but let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m no longer living with them.” She turned the envelope over in her hands, examining the glittering green ink and thick parchment. “Wow. I’ve read about these. Never expected to see one.”

Hermione sat up straight. “What? You mean it’s not a joke?”

“Very real.” She drew out the letter and unfolded it. “Yes, I admit it sounds a bit . . . incredible.” She scanned the letter quickly, shuffling to look at the second page of required school supplies. Finally, she set it on the table and looked up. “Have you read anything in your manual about . . . the Orders of Being? Inherent powers?”

Hermione stared. “No. Should I have?”

Sarah smiled slightly. “No, not really. It’s not information the Powers generally make available, especially to novices. I’d probably avoid mentioning it to you, but given that you’ve received this letter . . .” She shook her head and poured herself some more tea. “You know that wizards have a sort of—hierarchy, I suppose, but that’s such a poor word. Symptom of reading anthropology. But anyway. Since you’ve just started and have not yet completed your Ordeal, you would be considered a novice, and your power level is adjusted to reflect that. Novices have more power but less experience and knowledge, so it tends to balance out. I’m an Advisory, which means I have a little extra responsibility. Mostly so I can offer consultations to those like yourself. Then there are Seniors, Area Seniors, Regionals, Planetaries . . . it goes on and on.”

Hermione nodded, a little puzzled. “I’ve read about that much. But what does all that have to do with this letter?”

“I’m getting to that. In addition to that general order there are . . . outliers. Wizards and other entities who don’t fit into that scheme. What sorts these would be vary by location and dimension, but here on Earth the people who sent you this letter represent a major one.” She set down her teacup and steepled her fingers together. “There are—well, it happens to be mostly humans on this planet, who possess what most people would call ‘magic’ and are not wizards in the sense that we are. We receive our Art from the Powers for a very specific purpose—slowing entropy. People with this kind of magic—and who also call themselves witches and wizards, don’t think _that_ doesn’t get confusing—are born that way. They use their magic for whatever they see fit. These two groups of people don’t often overlap—after all, they’re both very small sections of the population.” She smiled at Hermione. “But once in a while, they do. Congratulations, Hermione.”

Hermione frowned. “Then you’re not . . .?”

“Not by their terms.” Sarah caught her expression and laughed. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? No, I’m what they would call a Muggle—no inherent magic powers and no reason to know of their existence. Course, _they’d_ have no reason to know what I would find out in my own capacity as a wizard. The Powers are a lot more forthcoming than these people.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand, though. Why would I have this magic and not you? Why not anyone else?”

Sarah shrugged. “Genetics. Whim of the Powers. Luck. Take your pick. It’s like hair and eye colour, Hermione. Not something we get to choose. The wizardry, now that we choose. Not all of us have the aptitude or inclination for it, but the choice is still ours.”

Hermione was quiet, and for a while there were only the sounds of cups clinking and the soft crunches of chewing. Finally Hermione said, “Did the Powers do this to me on purpose? Is this my Ordeal?” She waved her arm, bumping her abandoned teacup. “What, now that I’ve taken the Oath, They’ve decided to dump this on me?”

Sarah set down her half-eaten biscuit. “Hermione,” she said, “this isn’t some sadistic test from the Powers. This is part of who you are. You were a witch well before you ever found your manual, before you even thought of taking the Oath. The Powers don’t sit back on metaphysical armchairs, eying us poor mortals and thinking of new ways to toy with us. That’s not how They operate.” She sighed. “Does this represent part of your Ordeal? I couldn’t say.” She took a sip of tea. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Though do keep in mind that attending this school is a significant commitment. It may mean your Ordeal will last longer than you were expecting. It might even represent the beginning of a long-term assignment.” She raised a hand on seeing Hermione about to protest. “You don’t have to go. Yes, you were born a witch, but it’s up to you whether you decide to develop your powers. I don’t think these schools are in the habit of forcing people.”

Hermione looked at her lap and said nothing. She let out a breath. “How long is normal for an Ordeal?”

“It varies from person to person. Anywhere from a week or two to a month is typical.”

Hermione was quiet a while longer. When she spoke again, she was subdued. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It sounds—actually, it sounds like it might be a really good opportunity if it were true. But—you know, I’ve already taken the Oath, I’ve tried a few simple spells. I _know_ what we do is real. Having this arrive in the post . . . just seemed like a bad practical joke. Not to mention my parents would have to find out, and who knows how they would react, they’re both science and reason types . . .” Then, even more quietly: “And I really don’t want this to just be me being strung along by the Powers.”

“I can understand that,” said Sarah. “That’s why you came to me, to make sure. But I can tell you it isn’t a joke. And the Powers wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah. All right, so this is real.” Hermione paused. “So . . . I _should_ tell my parents?”

Sarah shrugged, draining her teacup. “You might as well wait, if the school’s representatives are going to visit later this week. They might otherwise be less inclined to believe it than you were.”

“Right. Yeah.” Hermione stood up, brushing crumbs from her lap. “I—I’ll think about it. I’ll wait to see what the school people say.” She started to the door. “Thank you. For talking to me.”

“It’s what I do. And Hermione—” Sarah’s voice called her back. “If you do decide to go, let me know how it goes.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll ring you. Or send a letter.”

“Do that. I’m in the book.”

~*~

“HERMIONE!” shouted Harry, as Hermione felt all her breath leave her at once.

 _Oh,_ she thought distantly, _that hurts, doesn’t it._ Dolohov had done something, some spell she hadn’t recognized that stank of entropy. It wasn’t physical, was it? Was she bleeding? She wanted to check, but she couldn’t move her limbs. _Am I on the floor?_ She could just feel it under her shoulder, that impractical slippery marble they used for the floors in the Ministry. _When did that happen? What happened to the prophecy?_

 _Hermione!_ The thought was Luna’s, piercing the fog in her head. _Where are you? Are you all right? Please, answer me!_

Hermione fought to open her eyes, to reassure Luna that she was all right, but she still couldn’t move. _Luna?_ she thought. _I can’t move. Dolohov did something. I think . . . the Lone One . . ._ She couldn’t focus.

 _Stay there._ The concern bled in Luna’s thought, more fiercely than words could convey. _I’m coming for you. I’ve got that blaster spell ready._

Hermione felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes, the only response her body could summon. _Be—_ She laboured to concentrate, to send to Luna. _Be_ careful _, Luna. Please. I don’t want anything to happen to you._

_Don’t worry._

She tried again to move, to get up and cover her partner, but exhaustion overcame her. She fell unconscious, sounds of the battle still ringing in her ears.

~*~

Harry was frowning at her. “Why are you even here, Hermione?” he said. “I mean, not that I don’t want you along, because you are kind of brilliant, but I didn’t think you approved of all this.” He waved one hand at the trapdoor and the sleeping dog beside it.

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Aren’t we breaking too many school rules?”

She shifted, fighting the blush that threatened to rise. “Probably,” she said. “But this—this is important. This _matters_. I need to be here, same as you.” _And_ , she thought, _what better time to finally complete the Ordeal, after months of waiting? This is what I signed up for._ “Besides,” she said, trying for some cheer, “without me, you’d probably just get yourselves killed.”

By the looks Ron and Harry were giving her, she wasn’t completely sure she’d succeeded at that. “Right,” breathed Ron. “Thanks for keeping things in perspective for us, Hermione.”

That dark wisp lurking in her mind curdled. _Are you sure you want to be here? You know you’ll be the one to get them killed. You can’t even tell them the truth of what you are; why should they trust you with their lives?_

 _Shut up,_ she told It. “Let’s go,” she said aloud. “Time that Power That _Was_ tasted some defiance.”

The boys looked a little confused, but nodded. Together, they leaped through the trapdoor.

Later, in that cramped little room with the table laden with potions, Harry standing by in silent worry, It was in full gloating form.

 _You’ve always worried about being good enough,_ It said. _Sensible, really. For all your brave words, you’re just a weak naive little mortal, while I have existed outside of time for eons. Your side flings wizards at Me to struggle and die. Why even bother?_

Hermione gritted her teeth, counting bottles. _If it’s all so pointless,_ she thought, _then why are You trying so hard to convince me?_

_Can’t I be concerned even a little about your welfare?_

She shook her head and under her breath murmured something she’d heard her mother say: “What, can the devil speak true?” She found the correct bottle at last and her heart sank. Snape had beaten her to it. It was empty.

 _And now you see that you were too late,_ said the Lone Power. _It’s a shame the Powers have to be on the defensive all the time. It makes Them and Their agents too slow._

She breathed out, feeling a knot of frustration. _No,_ she thought. _I don’t think so._

“Hermione?” said Harry from behind her. He’d obviously noticed her pause before the smallest bottle.

She reached into the satchel she’d been carrying and pulled out her manual. “Just a moment, Harry,” she said. Feeling a weird sense of calm, she paged to a spell she’d been idly studying only that morning. It was a neat little timeline patch—not quite sophisticated enough for a timeslide, nor thankfully as difficult, but it would do.

_What do you think you’re doing?_

She grinned, still angry, but focused now. She began to read the words, carefully, checking the pronunciations as she went, reminding the bottle of the liquid it had held in it, not more than an hour or two before. She felt the Lone One’s growing fury, and let it feed her words, a heat of her own determined fury building in her chest.

She could just feel it, the place in time where the potion was still untouched, waiting for the right person to drink it and quench the black fire. It lay behind a haze of heat, hovering in the air before her, just threatening to singe her fingers like the invisible breath of a candle flame. Her voice grew hoarse, as if she’d been breathing smoke. Still she didn’t stop, refusing to yield to the Lone Power, refusing to let Voldemort go free and so let Its will go unchallenged. Behind her, Harry was saying something, probably asking her what she was doing, but she didn’t care. All that mattered now was finishing the recitation. She could make her excuses to Harry later, and anyway, non-wizards tended to see what they wanted to see. She traced the wizard’s knot in the air deliberately before setting the spell loose.

The bottle filled. She staggered with sudden exhaustion, but managed to pick the bottle up. Harry would have to be the one to take it, because she needed to sleep for a year. _You know,_ she said to It, _the thing about us naive little mortals? We’re too naive to know when to give up._

~*~

Hermione accosted Luna where she was curled up in a dusty corner of the library. “Harry’s not crazy!”

Luna looked up from her book, mild bewilderment on her face. “I never said he was, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head impatiently. “He’s—no, I know you didn’t—I mean, he says he’s been hearing these mysterious voices in the corridors and I just thought, you know, maybe it was stress or something, from all those rumours about the Chamber and whatever’s in it. Because no one else was hearing them. But I was with him this time and I heard something. It was the Speech! Whatever it is, it’s been using a different language—”

“Excuse me.” Madam Pince loomed behind them, wearing a trademark death glare. “I feel I need to remind you that this. Is. A. Library. If you’d rather chatter, might I suggest one of your common rooms?”

Hermione blushed. “Sorry, Madam Pince. We’ll be quiet.”

Madam Pince gave them a long stare over her crooked nose. “See that you do,” she said, and swept away, straightening books on shelves as she went.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in frustration, and was about to get up and drag Luna with her when Luna caught her wrist.

Luna met her eyes. _Just talk like this._ Her voice sounded in Hermione’s head, as clear as speech, but her lips didn’t move. _It’s more private anyway._

Hermione’s mouth opened in shock, but she was careful not to utter a sound, mindful of Madam Pince’s hovering presence. “ _How?”_ she mouthed, perplexed.

_Just think at me and trust that I’ll hear you._

Hermione blinked. _Think at you and_ trust—?

 _That I’ll hear you. Yes, just like that._ Luna smiled. _I think it’s the trusting, really, that’s the important bit. But we’re friends now, aren’t we?_

Hermione huffed a silent laugh. _I suppose we must be, if we can do this. You’ve read about this in your manual? I didn’t know about it._

 _A little. It’s supposed to be easier with wizards who are close._ Luna’s smile was a little less dreamy than her usual, softer. _But anyway, you were saying? Harry’s been hearing things in a different language?_

Hermione nodded. _Yeah. Really creepy things too—voices saying things like “Rip, kill.” Things like that. That’s disturbing enough, but the thing I can’t figure out is why literally no one else has noticed it too. I mean, me, that makes sense, I can always listen through the Speech. What are the odds of there being a language that only Harry can . . ._ She stood up suddenly, eyes trailing to the stacks.

Luna caught the last trail of thought easily. _You think it’s something that speaks Parseltongue._

 _It’s got to be. We know he’s about the only one in the school who understands it. Well, or us, by proxy._ Hermione reached the shelves on magical creatures and started pulling down volumes. _Check your manual too, yeah?_

Luna’s finger ran down the margins of her book, her mind humming softly in the back of Hermione’s head.

~*~

It would embarrass Hermione later how long it took her to figure out that Ron’s rat and Sirius Black were connected, or that they were Animagi.

One such night when she would completely fail to figure it out occurred after yet another row with Ron. Hermione launched herself through the portrait hole and into the empty Gryffindor common room, prodding Crookshanks along with her.

“Oh, _thanks_ for that.” Crookshanks gave her a dirty look. “‘That’s what cats do’?”

Hermione sank into an armchair. “Well, it happens to be true! Do you think your behaviour would be any different if Scabbers _didn’t_ turn out to be a—a whatever he is?”

“Don’t see why you can’t just tell them,” he said. “ _What cats do_ , honestly. I mean, I do have some sense of how to act. You don’t see me attacking anyone else’s pets, do you?”

“Oh sure.” Hermione threw her hands in the air. “And tell them what, exactly? That my talking cat told me Ron’s rat is some sort of evil thing in disguise? That my cat knows this because a mysterious dog told him so?”

“‘Told’ is a bit of a loose description,” said Crookshanks. “That mutt had only a dim understanding of the Speech. He’s no more a dog than the rat is a rat.”

Hermione frowned at him. “But he’s more trustworthy?”

He yawned, a deliberate show of fangs. “Marginally.”

“You’re being careful?”

“Please.” Crookshanks stretched, digging his claws into the carpet. “I may not be a wizard but I can take care of myself. Now, I need to hunt something I’m actually allowed to eat. See you.”

Hermione nodded. “See what else you can find out?”

“I intend to. Keep an eye on that rat.” He bounded through the portrait hole and disappeared.

~*~

Hermione wedged her bag against the wall by the sink, trying to get comfortable. _Should have brought a pillow,_ she thought. Mostly when she flipped a few extra hours from her new Time Turner she either slept or studied, but Moaning Myrtle’s toilet had already become her chosen spot to practice her wizardry. It was more preferable than the common room right now, as Ron’s complaining about Crookshanks was already approaching her threshold. Now she was finding excuses to just sit here with her manual, reading up on Speech vocabulary and sketching out the occasional spell construct.

Also, there was one big reason Ron would probably avoid this place.

“Why don’t you ever bring your little friends here?”

Hermione turned a page in her manual and adjusted her position against the tiled wall. “I thought you didn’t even like them much,” she said. The manual was describing the nuances of the Speech’s various personal pronouns (many of which were incomprehensible to human perceptions of self) and she flipped the page to read a footnote, fascinated.

“I don’t like your ginger friend much,” said Myrtle. “He can’t seem to open his mouth without tripping over it.”

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, he’s got issues with that.”

“But you never bring them here. You never tell them what it is you’re doing here, with that weird book of yours and those spells that aren’t quite spells.”

Hermione looked up, glaring at the ghost. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

Myrtle held up her hands. “Please, like I’m going to tell them? I can’t leave my toilet and I’m not even on speaking terms with them. I’m just wondering why _you’re_ not.”

“It’s not a good time,” said Hermione.

“When will it be a good time, then?”

Hermione sighed and closed the book. “I—I just can’t,” she said. “In the beginning it was fine, I didn’t know them well enough, and now . . . I’ve left it too long. It’s too late. If I tell them now I’ll have been keeping a secret from them.”

“You _are_ keeping a secret from them.”

Hermione groaned in frustration. “Do you ever stop?”

Footsteps echoing from the doorway cut off Myrtle’s reply. “Oh,” said Luna. “I thought I heard someone in here. Hello, Hermione.”

Hermione scrambled to her feet. “Luna,” she said. “I—nice to see you.”

Luna smiled, a little nervously. “How have you been?”

“Terrible,” said Myrtle. “She’s been sulking in here for so long she’s been stealing my act.”

Hermione scowled. “Come on,” she said to Luna. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They walked through the corridor and down several staircases toward the grounds, neither saying much, shying from the lingering blind gazes of the dementors. Finally, when they reached the lake, Hermione said, “I wrote to you over the summer, I don’t know if you read my letters. I—I was worried, after that bit with the basilisk.” It had Petrified them both that awful day outside the library, despite their protective eye-shielding wizardries, but it had actually managed to nick Luna with its fang, and Luna had spent the rest of the year in the hospital wing.

Luna looked over at her in concern. “I didn’t, I’m sorry. After they released me from hospital, Daddy and I went on an expedition over the summer to look for Questing Beasts and there wasn’t any post. We were in the high mountains and I think it would have been too cold for the owls. I wish I’d known, I’d have sent you a manual message.”

“Oh.” The idea that Luna simply had been unable to receive her letters hadn’t occurred to Hermione. She should have just overcome her guilt and attempted mental contact. “Wait . . . a manual message?”

Luna nodded. “You know that the manual has directories of wizards? You can also send them direct messages through the manual and they get them instantly. It’s very convenient, much faster than owl post.”

“Huh.” Hermione absorbed that before laughing a little. “I didn’t even know about that. I wish I had.”

“Actually, I thought you did,” said Luna. “That was rather silly of me, I suppose. I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me. I know a lot of people don’t, generally.”

Hermione shook her head. “Of course I did. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me! I almost got you killed!”

They stared at each other, then both started to laugh. “We’re both idiots,” said Hermione. “Seriously, why did you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you? You’re brilliant.”

Luna smiled wide. “So are you. I just don’t have a lot of experience with friends.”

“Me neither,” said Hermione. “That’s all right, we can muddle through. Partners?”

“Yes,” said Luna, taking her hand. “Partners.”

~*~

Hermione bunched her scarf behind her head, which was propped against a beech tree beside the lake. She watched the Durmstrang ship rock gently back and forth in the steel grey water, thinking vaguely of doing some reading but not willing to move just yet. Luna’s head lay in her lap and she had her manual resting on her chest, which was open to meditation techniques suggested for oracular vision work.

Hermione glanced at Luna’s book and said, “Look at you. Wish I knew what I’m meant to be reading in the manual.”

“I didn’t think you needed a specific plan,” said Luna, turning a page. “Read about what’s interesting; that’s what I do.”

“You already have a speciality, though,” said Hermione. “You might think that’s interesting anyway, but you’re still helping improve it. I don’t have the first idea what I’m best at in wizardry.”

Luna patted her foot. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t suppose many wizards know their specialities at our age.”

“ _You_ seem to have it sorted.”

Luna laughed, bell-like. “I expect I’ll change my mind later. People change quite often in their lives, I think.”

Hermione lifted one shoulder, a half-shrug. “It’s just . . . you’ve learned so much from your dad, and now you’re a wizard and it all—fits.” She gestured agitatedly with her hands. “And now you know so much.”

“I _am_ a Ravenclaw,” said Luna. “It’s rather my job to know things. And I wouldn’t say _everything_ I’ve learned from Daddy has been helpful. I don’t really know if it’s all true. But quite a lot of it could be, and don’t people need to read about those things? They should hear all perspectives.”

Hermione had to smile at the look of earnest contemplation on Luna’s face. “You know, I’ve looked at your dad’s magazine. If not for the wizardry, I probably wouldn’t have believed a word of it either, Ron and Harry don’t. But a lot of those creatures he writes about have names in the Speech. People here—Hogwarts, these sorts of witches and wizards—they haven’t got any kind of exclusive understanding over the Muggles, no matter what they think. My _Advisory_ ’s a Muggle, by their terms.”

“And isn’t that what you want?” said Luna. “To find things out? There’s no fun in that if you already know it all. _I_ certainly don’t. Neither does my dad.” She twisted her head to watch Hermione. “What did you think, when you first found your manual? Why did you take the Oath?”

Hermione could remember that perfectly. She’d been consumed by a fierce longing she hadn’t even realized she’d possessed all her life, a sense of something being missing before and then found. She’d wanted to devour that book—something that soon proved impossible, as its pages seemed to multiply with each reading, but her need for more knowledge, more _wizardry_ had never waned. And she could never forget the feeling taking the Oath had given her, as if she’d finally found a purpose, something to do that mattered, something that had kindled within her with a strange thrill as she’d spoken the words _I will guard growth and ease pain . . ._

Luna met her eyes and smiled, having obviously caught the thread of that last thought. “There, you see? I shouldn’t worry about it too much. You already know _why_ you’re doing this. The details are rather less important.”

Hermione thought about that as they lapsed into comfortable silence. She kept thinking as the Durmstrang students boarded their ship, her fingers stroking Luna’s hair.

~*~

The summons came unexpectedly when Hermione sat in the common room, trying to ignore Ron’s and Harry’s pointed prickly silence.

“Hermione?” The speaker was a mousy first year whose name Hermione struggled to remember. _Leah? Sarah?_ “I’ve got a note for you. Professor Dumbledore wants to see you.”

Harry’s head snapped up from his growing pile of folded paper birds. His eyes narrowed.

Hermione’s hand opened automatically to accept a neat square of parchment on which “ _Maltesers_ ” was written in spidery handwriting.

Ron roused from his sulk. “Hermione? What’s Dumbledore—?” His eyes inadvertently met Harry’s and his mouth closed with an audible _thunk._

Hermione shot glares at both of them. She got to her feet, weighting down her roll of parchment with a book so the ink could dry. “ _Behave_ ,” she hissed at them, striding to the portrait hole.

She eased open the door to Dumbledore’s office. “Professor? If this is about how Harry’s name got in that goblet, I swear—”

“This has nothing at all to do with that, I assure you,” said Dumbledore. He frowned. “Well. Perhaps not entirely nothing. Let us say mostly nothing. Mostly unrelated to that.”

Hermione swallowed, not feeling at all reassured. “Professor?”

“Oh do sit down, please, there’s no need to look so apprehensive.” He gestured to a crystal bowl on the desk. “Chocolate? I do confess, having to set new passwords gives me the excuse to try new sweets, and I’ve found these to be quite delightful.”

She sat, twiddling her fingers, ignoring the bowl of brightly wrapped packets. “I don’t really care for sweets, sir. My parents are dentists, you see, and I never developed a taste for them.”

“Ah!” Dumbledore smiled. “Very wise of you, no doubt. My brother Aberforth is always after me to take better care of my health. But after endless exercises of self-control in other areas, I have to take my enjoyment where I can find it.” He shook his head, seeing her expression. “But do excuse me, Miss Granger, for deviating. As an old man, I sometimes have the unfortunate tendency to ramble.” He straightened in his chair. “First I must apologize for not meeting with you sooner. I’m afraid that’s something of a side effect of having Harry Potter in the same year, my not having time to devote to other students. This really concerns both you and Miss Lovegood of Ravenclaw, but I understand she is availing herself of the considerable delights of Hogsmeade this afternoon. I trust you can relay all relevant information to her?”

Hermione stared. “I—yes, of course I can. This is about me and Luna? Not Harry?” She reached for the mental connection and felt Luna pay attention.

“Ah good, I see you are relaying this to Miss Lovegood. That makes things easier.” Dumbledore freed a chocolate from its packet and popped it in his mouth. He smiled at Hermione’s nonplussed look. “Oh please, Miss Granger, it’s nothing to look so worried about. We all work together to fight the same enemy Power, do we not?”

Her mouth fell open. “You—you’re on errantry? Sir?”

“Not myself, no,” he said. “But I have been around a while, and you can’t do that without encountering people who are. At least, not if you pay attention. And I think I am right that that group of people includes you and Miss Lovegood?”

Hermione nodded slowly. _Luna?_ she thought.

Luna’s response was immediate. _He knows already? How fascinating. I’ve always heard he was very clever._

She shook her head, feeling gobsmacked. “Er—yes, sorry,” she said, on realizing how the gesture would be interpreted. “She’s my . . . partner, I suppose is the word.” It was surprising how odd the word sounded said aloud. It didn’t seem enough to describe what she and Luna were. “You knew she was listening?”

Dumbledore smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I am quite inadvertently sensitive to the presence of any sort of mind magic, including most varieties of telepathy. Rest assured, though, that I had no idea what either of you were saying. That would be exceedingly rude, anyway.”

Hermione still felt as though she were underwater.

 _Hermione?_ said Luna. _Could you ask him why he’s wanting to talk to us now?_

Hermione nodded, knowing Luna would sense the gesture. “Luna wants to know why you’re speaking to us now about this. How long have you known?”

“Oh, not too long,” said Dumbledore. “Though I do acknowledge I have probably left it a bit late. As I said, having Harry Potter in your year can make my days rather busy. I am glad he has you to look after him, since he has such a nose for trouble much of the time. In fact, I saw no need to discuss this with you because you seemed to have things so well in hand, excepting last year’s unfortunate business with Sirius Black.” He smiled reassuringly. “Which no one could blame you for. But it did cause me to consider that you might wish for a support system, especially given how Harry’s participation in the Triwizard Tournament may complicate matters.” He spread his hands. “So I am offering my support, for however much that of a mm, _non-wizard_ is worth.”

Hermione blinked. “Um. Thank you, Professor.”

 _That’s very thoughtful of him,_ said Luna.

“Luna says thank you too,” Hermione said. “You said you’re not that sort of wizard, but do you know any? Er, nearby, I suppose?”

“You are most welcome. And yes, happily I do.” He reached into his desk to pull out a piece of parchment and a long brilliantly red quill. He spoke as he wrote. “I’ve mentioned my brother Aberforth to you already. For many personal reasons, he and I have a rather— _difficult_ relationship, which has earned him the largely undeserved reputation of an eccentric in our mutual social circles.” He slid the parchment toward Hermione. “But he is a good man. And a good wizard, in both senses of the word. I’ve written his address for you.” He smiled. “I know you must have your own ways of finding your fellow emissaries, but I thought I would bring your attention to him. He lives just down the road in Hogsmeade, you see. If you should ever need his help, I am confident you will receive it. And mine as well, as I said. Whether it’s advice, information, emotional support . . . I offer it to you. To both of you.”

Hermione took the parchment. “Thank you. We both appreciate that very much.” She paused. “I suppose—I suppose I should ask—you said Harry being in the Triwizard Tournament would complicate things.”

“And you wish to know why,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Of course.” He tapped the quill’s point on his desk blotter, thoughtful. “I suppose, then, I ought to begin with Bertha Jorkins . . .”

~*~

Hermione sat with Luna at a little table in the Three Broomsticks, trying not to look as worried as she felt. She figured if she tried not to _look_ worried, her mind would eventually catch on, but so far it wasn’t working.

“Skeeter will be here soon.” Hermione glanced at the door, then back at Luna. “You’re sure you want to do this, get your dad to publish Harry’s story? I don’t think this will attract entirely positive attention for him. Umbridge probably isn’t even the least of it.”

Luna set down her gillywater after a moment’s thoughtful sip. “Daddy wants to do it, and I don’t think I could dissuade him. I wouldn’t want to, either. I’ve been trying to get better at the future-sight. Well—you know how it is.” She waved one hand in the air. “It’s like trying to take a fireworm for a walk. But I am getting feelings when I try, and I’m pretty confident in them.” She grasped Hermione’s hand then, sudden and warm. “This is the right path, I’m sure of it. Maybe the details could get dangerous, I don’t know that clearly, but I do know this will be best. For all of us.”

Hermione squeezed her hand. “All right, then.”

Rita Skeeter came up behind them, drink in hand. “Branching out, are we?” she said, nodding at their joined hands. “Been reading the Greek poetry? Care to do a human interest piece?”

Hermione flushed and pulled her hand back. Luna flinched. “Don’t be stupid,” said Hermione.

Rita rolled her eyes. “Of course, how could I forget. The word’s been all about Little Miss Perfect and the tragically disturbed Harry Potter. That piece had legs, I’m sure I could resurrect it. Even see about sharing the royalties, I suppose. _”_

“Not interested,” said Hermione. “And I don’t believe you are, either.”

Rita huffed exaggeratedly as Hermione caught sight of Harry and waved him over.

~*~

Hermione tugged nervously at her dress robes. She wasn’t _used_ to this, dousing her hair in product and fiddling with make-up and worrying if her earrings matched her bracelet. Her feet were pinched in too-new shoes, she kept having to stop herself from biting her nails and ruining the varnish she’d put on them, and she was developing a headache from the constant chemical smell of the hair potion. But all of that was nothing beside her impending terror about what people would say when they saw her at the ball. She wanted to think they’d be impressed, but she still felt like a little girl playing pretend in her mother’s clothes. One might say it had been a miracle she’d avoided everyone’s attention on the way down from Gryffindor Tower, but it really hadn’t been. She’d cheated and used a small invisibility spell.

“You look wonderful.”

Hermione turned to find Luna standing near the entrance to the Great Hall. “Thanks,” she said, scrutinizing Luna’s face but finding only sincerity. Then she noticed that Luna was in her regular school robes. “You’re not going to the ball?”

“I’m too young, and no one older has asked me,” said Luna. “I don’t mind, though. I’m not a great dancer. I just wanted to have a look at all the people who are going. And see you off, of course.”

Hermione felt a slight pang of guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t even think to ask if you wanted to come,” she said. “It’s only that Viktor asked me and he’s been really nice. And the boys in my year can be such idiots, you have no idea. Still, though.” She fiddled with her evening bag. “I’m sorry.”

Luna came up to her, disentangling the clutch from where the clasp had caught in the beading on Hermione’s dress robes. “I don’t mind,” she said again. She patted Hermione’s shoulder. “Have a good time.”

~*~

Aberforth was no Senior, or even Advisory—“Like I’d have much use for authority, girl,” he’d growl—but he had a surprising knowledge of communicating with various creatures and was an experienced spell-writer. He was also a useful source of advice, and, despite his gruff exterior, clearly enjoyed having Hermione and Luna around.

One Hogsmeade weekend, while Ron and Harry were at Zonko’s and Hermione had obliquely implied that she and Luna were going to have tea at Madam Puddifoot’s, the two sat in the mostly empty pub, shielded under a convenient voice-scrambling wizardry and chatting with Aberforth, who as usual looked much more put out at their company than he probably actually was.

“So,” said Hermione at one point, “how come er, your brother isn’t a wizard, if he knows about them? Don’t wizards often run in families?” She knew enough that this could be a sensitive question, but her curiosity could only take so much.

Aberforth gave her a long stare, his rag pausing in its run across the counter. “They do, often,” he said. “But they never did in ours. Don’t be fooled by Albus’s golden exterior, girl. He wasn’t always the wise old vanguard of the Light, and he’s had a lot of years to cultivate his own secrets. When he was a young man he had no interest in working in the service of Life and by the time he got smart he was too old to get offered the chance.”

Hermione bit her lip, thinking about this. “Oh,” she said, “I see.” She looked up at him again. “Does—does he want you telling us this?”

Aberforth barked a laugh. “Don’t think it’s his call to object. He has no right to object to my speaking the truth.”

“But he trusts you,” said Luna. “He wouldn’t have pointed us to you if he didn’t. He obviously cares about you.” She darted a quick look at Hermione before staring at her drink again.

Aberforth scowled. “Well, he _cares_ , sure,” he said. “Albus can care as much as the day is long.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Go on, I think your hangers-on are looking for you.”

Harry and Ron hovered on the street outside, skittishly eying the nearby teashop. Hermione and Luna exchanged a glance, then bid Aberforth goodbye and hurried out.

~*~

The Slug Club Christmas party was an embarrassment of decorative excess, even by Hogwarts standards. Colourful silk and velvet hangings covered the walls, while doorways were festooned with greenery: evergreen and mistletoe and holly and even rowan in full berry. There was live music and an abundance of people, most of whom weren’t even students.

Hermione hated it. She swatted away a fairy, which gave her a dirty look, stifling a yawn as Cormac McLaggen prattled on (and on!) about his Quidditch skills. _I left the tower for this?_ she thought. She’d just discovered a new section in the manual about the Speech’s subjunctive mood. She could be doing something _useful._

After Harry had been captured by Slughorn, Luna strolled up to Hermione, who had sought refuge at the refreshment table. “Are you feeling better now? Did Ron apologize?” She lowered her voice. “Did he notice who you were going with?”

Hermione shook her head. “I doubt it, but sweet Powers That Be, I don’t know why I should worry about it. I don’t even know why I was so upset about it now,” she said. “Or why I didn’t just go with you when you offered. So stupid.”

Luna shrugged. “We’re all stupid from time to time. Besides, Harry’s good company, and it’s nice to go to things with someone who knows you’re just friends. It turned out fine.” She glanced to one side, where Cormac could be seen peering over the heads of the crowd. “Well, _mostly_ fine.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said, and seized Luna’s hand. “Let’s get out of range.”

As they made for the door, they caught Harry's eye. He nodded at them, frowning slightly, before turning back to the energetically gesticulating Slughorn. They wove through knots of students, wandering house-elves, and a cadre of unfamiliar older wizards smoking long pipes, before finally emerging in the corridor.

“Good thinking,” said Luna. “That smoke was making me cough, it smelled so awful. Do you suppose there was valerian in it?”

Hermione shook her head, feeling exhilarated through she couldn’t say why. “I think it was something a little more, um, recreational.”

“Oh.” Luna wrinkled her nose. In her silver robes with her long pale hair loose about her shoulders, she looked a bit like a bemused snowflake and Hermione couldn’t help a smile. “Why do people do that?”

“No idea. I’ve never seen the appeal myself.” Hermione was dimly aware that she was still holding Luna’s hand, but Luna made no effort to let go, and neither did Hermione. “I, um.” Hermione licked her lips. “Thank you. For earlier.”

“Ron will come round, eventually,” said Luna. “I think he’s just at the age that boys get at, when they feel they need to behave like complete prats.”

“I know,” said Hermione. “It’s only—Luna.”

Luna raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

One of Luna’s eyes was just a bit bluer than the other, Hermione noticed. “You said you and Harry just came as friends?” She blinked. _Where did that come from?_

“That’s right,” said Luna. “Poor Harry, I think he’s a bit too distracted for anything else right now.” She stepped a little closer, and Hermione breathed the scent of sage clinging to her—something that had become common as Luna more actively cultivated her oracular speciality. “Between you and me though, I think he’s got a thing for Ginny Weasley. No telling what Ron will think of _that_ when he finds out.”

“God, I know. It’ll be my job to make them play nice afterwards, too.”

“You _are_ very good at it.” Luna stepped even closer, loose strands of hair tickling Hermione’s face. Hermione caught a fragment of Luna’s anticipatory thought before it happened: Luna reaching under her chin with one hand, their lips meeting softly.

It surprised Hermione how natural it felt. She’d thought kissing a girl would be strange, especially when that girl was Luna, but Luna’s lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of the minty Tooth-Freshening Charm she’d apparently used before the party. And then Hermione felt the press of Luna’s mind against hers, and that was normal at first, but it quickly became so much _more_ than she’d ever felt before. Suddenly her mind was full of the sun-yellow _colour_ of Luna’s head, tasting the tangy edge of her ever-present curiosity— _Ravenclaw, of course—_ feeling disjointed shapes of memories, including one impression of stubborn fire, bright and persistent and so, _so_ good. _Wait,_ Hermione thought. _Is that how she sees . . . me?_

Hermione broke the kiss, gasping. “That—wow.” She pulled back to look Luna in the face, seeing Luna grinning as much as she surely must be, their minds still tangled in each other. “Did you know it would be like . . . that?”

Luna’s eyebrows quirked mischievously. “I may have read something in my manual.”

Hermione shook her head, still grinning inanely. “Good—good job, that.” She reached back into the humming chatter that was their minds, and said silently, _Do it again._

Luna’s hand cradled her head, and they dove back in.

~*~

Divination with Professor Trelawney would probably always have bothered her, Hermione thought. She’d always been a logical sort of person, to the point that blind intuition did not come easily to her. It was one reason why she and Luna worked so well together.

But, Hermione was certain, if she hadn’t been a wizard, it wouldn’t have bothered her quite so much.

“Why can’t you _see_ it?” she said, flinging open the Fat Lady’s portrait with such force that it banged against the adjacent wall, eliciting an irate protest from its subject. She stomped into the common room, Ron and Harry trailing warily behind. “She has no idea what she’s doing, she’s just making it up!”

Ron snorted. “Just admit it, Hermione. You’ve come across something you’re not brilliant at. Bound to happen one of these days.” He shot a grin at Harry, who seemed to be struggling to keep a straight expression.

Hermione glared at them. “If being brilliant at it means having to flounce around making vague spooky statements that could apply to anyone to sound impressive, I don’t think I’m missing much.”

“Hermione, I think Ron’s got a point.” Harry’s tone was faintly apologetic, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his face. “Professor Trelawney is, well, a professor. You’re the one always going on about how they’re grown-ups and we ought to respect them and learn and all that. This is the one subject and the one teacher you don’t like because it doesn’t come easily to you.”

“Oh for Powers’ sake, Harry,” Hermione snapped. “Divination isn’t _supposed_ to come easily to you. It’s not a trained dog that comes on command. Professor Trelawney made it sound like something where you say just the right words and wave the right ingredients and prophecies just pop out.”

Harry tilted his head. “Isn’t that how magic works?”

“No, it jolly well isn’t!” Hermione paced in the empty common room, resisting the urge to tear at her hair. She remembered Luna’s dreams that seemed to coincide with whatever grave danger Harry was about to encounter next. _She_ was a lot more specific than any spectral dog, and infinitely more useful. She would never shroud her visions behind dramatic pretence—she knew they came from the Powers, and that there was no reason to develop an ego over that. “Magic—power doesn’t just appear for no reason. It has rules and laws, and it _doesn’t_ just do what you want for the sake of fancy parlour tricks, or if you just try to make it produce on command for the sake of some stupid class, sometimes it does what it will and you have to _recognize_ that, because it’s not supposed to be _easy,_ you have to treat it with _respect_ , and it’s not like I don’t have enough classes to take and enough to be getting on with without one that doesn’t see that and is just a waste of _time,_ and . . .” She let out a shuddering breath. _Luna?_ she thought. _Are you free?_

“Hermione?” Harry edged closer, looking concerned, Ron at his elbow.

She felt the casual press in her mind and finally felt her breaths begin to slow. _I am now. Potions ended early today. Zacharias Smith melted a cauldron and Professor Snape was quite furious. He's let us out to ventilate the classroom. Do you have Potions today? Be careful if you see any purple smoke; it was making people develop these funny spots._

 _I’ll keep that in mind,_ Hermione sent. _Have you had lunch yet?_ She exhaled a few times, trying to calm herself down.

“Hermione?” Now Ron was looking concerned too, placing one tentative hand on her shoulder. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

_Not yet. I thought I’d stop by the library, since I got out of Potions early._

_Wait for me?_ Hermione blew out another breath. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” It was even true, she thought. Mostly. She felt the warmth of Luna’s affirmative reply and closed her eyes for a moment. “I just need to calm down a bit, that’s all. I should get to the library, loads of homework and all that.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and turned back to the portrait hole.

“You’re all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, pushing the portrait open. “I just need to get to the library.” For some reason, she didn’t want to mention that she was going to meet with Luna. The one time Ron and Harry had met her, Ron’s eyes had bugged out so much she’d thought they would pop out. Luna was odd, everyone knew that, but somehow to them the thought of Hermione being friends with her was even odder, and Hermione didn’t like it.

She stepped through the portrait hole, leaving the boys bemused in her wake.

Harry’s voice. “Hermione, what did you mean by ‘Powers’?”

 _Oh, bugger._ “It’s an _expression!”_

~*~

This time when Hermione and Luna met with Aberforth in the Hog’s Head, Aberforth locked the doors of the pub and led them up the stairs to a shabby little sitting room. The atmosphere was noticeably tenser than any of their previous meetings had been, even the ones where the conversation had drifted toward Albus and Aberforth had gotten uncomfortably quiet and tight-jawed.

“I’m sorry to involve you in this,” said Hermione finally, draining the last of her cup of tea. “I know it’s dangerous with more people. If Voldemort found out—”

“I’ve never been one to attract his notice,” said Aberforth from where he was standing before the great portrait of a young girl that hung over his fireplace. “I barely attract That One’s notice these days either, with my power levels. Don’t you worry about it. They’ll dismiss me as an old crackpot. Everyone does.”

Hermione swallowed and tried not to look at Luna. She knew how that sort of public perception cut both ways.

“Your brother, though,” said Luna. “He—he didn’t, erm, sound great when we spoke to him last. When we became convinced we needed to do this.”

“You mean he’s finally found himself in something he can’t get out of?” said Aberforth, turning to face them. At their expressions he said, “Don’t look so surprised. It may not be _my_ speciality, but I have my share of significant dreams, same as any wizard. At least, when it’s important enough.” He shook his head. “I always knew I’d outlive him.”

They were all silent for a moment. Hermione wasn’t sure what to feel about it. She couldn’t claim to completely _like_ the headmaster—she still felt he kept too many secrets, particularly where Harry was concerned, and knew enough that he’d done something awful in the past that Aberforth could never forgive him for, but she still didn’t want him to die. He was after all on their side, and too many had died for their convictions already.

“You said you had something for us,” said Luna.

Aberforth stirred, having been drawn again to stare at the painting. “Yes.” He picked up his manual from where it had been sitting on the mantel, opening it and pulling out the misty structure of a spell diagram. “I thought about what you asked for. I don’t think this will be perfect—you’d need a whole team of wizards to accomplish what you want, if it can be accomplished at all. But I think this is close to the best you can do.”

He laid the translucent diagram over the low table, and Hermione and Luna bent over it. “Wow,” Hermione breathed. It was an enormous double-noded thing, careful subroutines branching from the two large structures, thin neat lines of Speech hooking them together. The spell was purposefully missing words at critical junctures, so one could still see an outline of what it was meant to do without risking it being executed before it was ready.

“Whatever connection your friend Harry has with Voldemort, from what _my_ _brother_ and I can tell, it’s much more serious than a spell like this can properly mitigate,” said Aberforth. He looked sour on mentioning his brother, and Hermione realized with surprise that he must have consulted him before building the spell. “There’s something in him that’s _alive_ and considers itself part of him, and nothing alive will take well to intervention like this without a fight. But you’re right too, that the situation we have cannot be allowed to continue. Voldemort—and consequently That One—could manipulate him as again as he did last year.”

Hermione nodded, studying the lines of the diagram that spoke of _binding_ , _stricture, sleep_. “This won’t break the connection?” she said.

Aberforth shook his head. “Slow its growth, only. It should also shield his mind from Voldemort’s interference some, but it won’t be perfect. If Harry is especially careless, or if he really tries, he’ll still be able to see Voldemort’s mind. With any luck though, it should prevent Voldemort from invading his.”

“Good,” said Luna. “Perhaps then we will be able to be a little more open with each other.” Hermione caught a flash of her thought: a memory of that morning, the two sneaking out early on a Saturday morning to go off to Hogsmeade together, before Harry and Ron could notice. They’d been holding hands, as they usually avoided doing when the castle was awake.

Hermione’s heart jumped. “I—I don’t know,” she said, and Luna stared at her in surprise. She was surprising herself with her own words. “You said ‘with any luck.’ Meaning it’s not completely secure. Voldemort could still find out, through Harry. About Luna and me, and what we’re doing.”

Aberforth nodded. “It could still be possible,” he said. “The connection would still be there, just suppressed. Really, I don’t know if it could be got rid of without lifeprice, it’s that insidious—the Lone One is sure to have burrowed Itself in. Albus doesn’t seem to think it could be without lifeprice, but I’m not about to take him as an expert when he hasn’t even taken the Oath himself.”

Luna shook her head. “Hermione, you can’t seriously be thinking of still keeping all this secret from them! What good would that do? What would Voldemort even care? He’d still want us both dead anyway; we both fought against him last year.”

“It’s still a risk,” said Hermione. Her heart was still pounding and she tried to breathe deeply. “Whatever information we can keep from him would still be an advantage, Luna.”

Luna locked eyes with her for a long moment. “All right,” she said, and kissed Hermione’s hand. “If you really think it’s best.”

“Take this spell with you, then,” said Aberforth, folding the translucent diagram up again and handing to Hermione. “You’ll need to be close to Harry to cast it properly. And go with the Powers. We’ll all need Their help to get through this.”

“Go well yourself,” said Luna. They grasped hands as they left the pub, and began the awkward, quiet walk back to the castle.

~*~

Hermione stared at the reply that appeared in her manual, biting her lip.

 _“Hermione,”_ it read, _“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to tell you very much at the moment. Things are really busy here, and I can’t spend too much time alone with the manual for concern of being watched. I will try to contact you when I can.”_

The note was unsigned, though signatures were unnecessary with the manual. But the note was much shorter and abrupter than Hermione could ever remember Luna being with her. Wizards didn’t lie, but the message was as close an approximation to one as Hermione had ever seen—manual messages couldn’t be intercepted of course, though there would be some truth to Luna’s message if she was concerned about being watched in the castle’s network of spies. Still, Hermione felt she knew what Luna wasn’t saying. _It’s my fault,_ she thought. _I shouldn’t have said those things to her. No wonder she doesn’t want to talk to me now. I can’t even reach her mentally anymore._ Carrying the Horcrux around her neck felt like weight enough, but it was nothing to the unnerving mental silence she’d endured since going on the run.

Harry entered the tent, wiping snow and mud from his boots. He froze as Hermione gulped with a sudden sob. “What’s wrong?” he said.

Hermione shook her head, trying to rein herself under control, and carefully closed the manual. “Oh, you know,” she said at last. “Just worried about Hogwarts. It’s hard not knowing how they’re doing there.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Hard to think of them there, shut up with Death Eaters. And _that_ wanker—” he threw a look at the covered portrait of Phineas Nigellus, which emitted an indignant sniff— “is no help of course. I just—you know I’m sorry, right? I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” His fingers stilled over the muddy collection of mushrooms he’d gathered, about to wash.

Hermione sighed. “Harry, stop. For the millionth time, you didn’t drag me into anything. I can make my own decisions. You really think I could just stand by and not defend Life if it needed me?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her phrasing, but evidently decided not to pursue it. “I know, it’s just that I know how much this hurt . . . Ron.” His voice thickened involuntarily at the name, and the two were silent for an uncomfortable moment. “Being away from his family, I mean. And you . . . you don’t fool me. You say you’re worried about Hogwarts, and I know you are, I am too, but really . . .” He let out a breath. “It’s Luna, isn’t it.”

Hermione could only stare at her lap.

“You’re close.” He laughed thinly. “Merlin knows why, I’ve never seen two people so different, but you are. Maybe it’s like me and Ginny—” At Hermione’s alarmed expression, he said, “Not that it’s any of my business if it is! But you, you _care_ about her. I know she cares about you. I just mean, if that’s what this is about . . . I get it.”

Hermione blinked and nodded faintly. “I didn’t realize you’d noticed.” She wondered if she ought to be more upset about it, but right now it was difficult to care.

“I’m not _that_ thick.”

“Suppose not.”

Harry nodded, hesitating. “Hermione . . . you can tell me to sod off if you want, but this thing with you and Luna . . . _are_ you—?”

“Harry,” said Hermione, her fingers tightening around her manual, pressure building in the back of her throat. “Please. I—I don’t think I can talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Just let me know.”

“I will.” She tried for a smile. “Thank you. You’re a good friend, Harry.”

His returning smile looked just as pained. He turned back to his mushrooms. Hermione swallowed, and opened her manual to a page she’d been rereading with increasing anxiety over the past few weeks.

_“Mind to mind communication among wizards remains a poorly-understood subject. Human wizards approaching long term partnerships frequently find such communication becomes increasingly difficult as greater intimacy necessitates the mind’s own sense of objectivity. This may be considered a quirk of human physiology, as different species often have different interactions among their own wizards._

_“Additionally, emotional stress may similarly stress the psychic bond. Fundamental disagreements may disrupt the ability of wizards to connect—a phenomenon even recognized in non-wizardly casual speech, as in the expression ‘being on different wavelengths.’ This expression is a reasonable approximation of the process, though of course no actual waves are involved. Such disagreements, if left unresolved, can spread to the wizards’ ability to complete cooperative spelling, and are usually a factor in dissolved wizardly partnerships.”_

Hermione closed the book, and mindful of Harry’s presence, made sure to make no sound as she cried.

~*~

“Wait,” said Ron. “I’ve heard Harry say it before. I reckon I could do it.” He made some hissing noises at the tap, but nothing happened. “Bollocks!”

“Ron, hang on.” Hermione dug in her bag for her manual, paging easily to the correct wizardry—for all the fuss made over Parseltongue, the Art’s equivalent was remarkably straightforward. She raised her wand—more for effect than anything else—and recited the twenty-three syllables in the Speech that would temporarily alter Ron’s language centres. “Try it now.”

Ron hissed fluidly, and the Chamber door slid open. He turned, wide-eyed, to stare at Hermione. She smiled, shrugged, and spoke the last syllable to undo the wizardry.

 _“Brilliant,”_ Ron breathed, and just like that, he had stepped forward and kissed her.

Hermione froze, not sure what to do. She edged back. “Um . . .”

Ron opened his eyes. “Oh. Oh, damn, I’m sorry. I’ve cocked it up, I’m sorry—”

Hermione found her voice. “Ron. Ron, stop!” She gave him a small smile. “You haven’t cocked it up.”

“But you, you didn’t like it,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

“Um. Well, no, not exactly.” At Ron’s expression, she said hurriedly, “But that’s not your fault! Really! You’re great, Ron, it’s just that—” _Say it,_ she ordered herself. _Say it, like you should have done before._ She screwed up her face, and just like that, the words came so readily it was an anti-climax. “There’s someone else.” She hoped that much was still true.

Ron flushed. “Right, yeah,” he said. “I suppose it makes sense. You and Harry spent all that time together while I was off being useless—”

“It’s not Harry,” Hermione said. “I told you that already, and I would never lie to you. He’s like my brother. And you—you’re not useless, Ron! Surely you know that?”

Ron’s expression lightened a little, and Hermione recalled how he had always wilted when people compared him to Harry. “It’s not Harry?”

“Promise,” she said.

He gave her a watery smile. “But there is someone else.”

He sounded so weary, suddenly so different from the boy who had stormed away from their campsite in a huff. They'd all had to grow up so fast. “Yeah. But if there weren’t, I’d be honoured.”

His smile grew. “You would?”

“‘Course I would,” she said. “You’re a catch, Ron Weasley, and you’d best not let any witch who dates you forget it.”

“Yeah.” Ron turned to face the Chamber entrance and glanced back shyly. “We should probably get going.”

She grinned, and thrust her manual back into her clutch. “Right, time to save the day. Can’t let Harry do it all, he’ll get all sulky.”

Ron laughed, and in that moment Hermione thought they would be okay.

~*~

Hermione tore through mazes of wood-panelled rooms, lined with oppressive dark velvet hangings and scowling portraits of what were no doubt many generations of hostile Malfoys. She thrust out her hand, ringed with blue light, and blasted Scabior and Greyback with short mental recitations of the Speech trigger word, not bothering to stop or wonder what they would think of her apparently doing magic without a wand. She was past caring about secrecy. Luna had been right. What would it matter, if Voldemort knew she was a wizard? Her real enemy was the Lone Power, and It knew all about that anyway.

Behind her, Bellatrix was getting up with a roar of rage. Hermione gritted her teeth and ran faster in search of the cellar, but she was not helped in her complete unfamiliarity with the house. She rounded a corner and jumped to find Bellatrix before her, bleeding from one shoulder and looking deranged.

“Now that’s a new trick,” cooed Bellatrix. “Did the Mudblood crack a new book?” She levelled her wand at Hermione, aiming squarely at the arm still aglow with blue fire. “Shame you won’t be able to do it again. I’m going to tear your arm off, and after that I’ll take my knife and show you what I do to Mudbloods who dare lay a mark on me.”

Hermione breathed out slowly, feeling again that weird calm she’d possessed in her Ordeal, in Muggle London, at the fight at the Ministry. It was as a fire, banked into coals, but still ready to consume, and uncaring of what obstacles got in its way. That feeling had never failed to save her life in a crisis, and she was counting on it now. “I really don’t think you will,” she said, and mentally let loose a small spell she’d memorized for moments like this. Bellatrix’s wand popped neatly out of her hand and into the otherspace pocket contained within Hermione’s beaded handbag. She smirked at Bellatrix’s expression of surprised horror, raised her right arm, and fired.

She breathed in relief as Bellatrix slumped to the floor, shaking out her hand to dissipate the spell. She hadn’t had enough power left to kill in one shot—and wasn’t sure she had the conviction to do it anyway—but Bella would have a nasty burn when she woke up. She pulled the wand from her handbag, and let it direct her to her friends.

She shoved open the cellar door with a loud scrape. Ron leapt to his feet. “Hermione! You’re all right!”

“Yeah,” she said faintly. Beside him, Harry was getting up too, along with Ollivander the wand-maker, a goblin, and—

“Hermione,” said Luna. “It’s good to see you.”

Hermione swallowed. “Good to see you too.”

Before Hermione realized what she was doing, she had swept down the stairs to grasp Luna’s shoulders. “Are you all right?” she said. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know . . .” Luna looked awful. Her hair, normally soft and pale as cornsilk, hung about her face in filthy tangled knots. Her cheekbones, sharp with malnutrition, only accentuated her huge silvery eyes. They looked too big for her face.

Luna smiled. “I’ll be fine,” she said, touching one finger to Hermione’s stinging cheek. Bellatrix had managed a shallow cut before Hermione had blasted her the first time. “We need to get out of here.”

Hermione frowned. “You couldn’t—?”

“Escape-proof,” said Luna. “Quite inadvertently so, actually. If you concentrate, I’m sure you can feel it. The dungeon wards were meant to block Apparition, but they’re also rather effective for other things. Especially since I’m . . . rather tired, lately.”

“You mean, they haven’t been feeding you,” said Hermione. She squared her shoulders and raised her voice to include the others. “Fine. Let’s all of us move out of here so we can teleport.”

As they shuffled out of the dungeon, avoiding the scorched unconscious Death Eaters, to the empty library, Luna said quietly, “It’ll be too risky to Apparate; we’re all tired and we’d have to go separately and leave others vulnerable. If—if you think you can work with me, I might be able to pull off a gating for us with some help.”

Hermione stopped and inhaled sharply. “If I _think_ I can—?” She shook her head. “Of course, Luna. I—I always will work with you. I’m sorry for making you think otherwise.”

Luna only nodded tiredly, and Hermione’s stomach twisted. “All right, then. Let’s gather everyone together and get started.”

~*~

“Let me get this straight.” The sheer amount of broken discarded junk in the Room of Requirement made it impossible for Hermione to pace as she wanted, so she settled for tapping her fingers on a battered writing desk containing some broken Cheat Quills and old History of Magic essays. “You want me to just _leave_ you here while I play scavenger hunt with Harry and Ron? You said yourself that next year was going to be bad, unless you want me to doubt the Powers That Be now. If you think I’m abandoning you to—to an invasion of Death Eaters, you’re mad.”

Luna smiled slightly. “With Dumbledore gone, I hardly think I’d need the Powers’ help to predict that likelihood.”

“So let me help you!” said Hermione. “There’s no way Hogwarts will stay safe anymore. Harry and Ron won’t be here anyway, they can handle it by themselves.”

“No, Hermione.” Luna’s eyes were so wide now they almost seemed luminous. “If Harry and Ron want to have any chance of surviving what’s coming, they’ll need a responsible wizard with them. That needs to be you.”

Hermione was unable to believe this line of conversation. “Then come with us. Luna, we’re _partners._ We can’t just split up.”

“And you think Ron and Harry would go for that?” Luna shook her head. “It’s obvious they’ll only fully trust you, and so they should. You’ve known each other since your first year. Besides.” Her voice acquired a note of bitterness Hermione had scarcely heard from her before. “I’ll only be a distraction for you. You’ll spend too much time hiding our relationship instead of doing what needs to be done. None of us can afford to lose focus.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “You agreed with me that that was the best thing to do!” she said. “You agreed—that spell wasn’t foolproof—Harry still has a link with Voldemort, and if something slipped—”

“I agreed because you wanted me to!” If Hermione had rarely seen Luna bitter before, she had never seen her this angry. “Be honest, Hermione. We’re both wizards and concealment doesn’t suit. Was all this secrecy really about Voldemort? You think Voldemort cares if two of Harry Potter’s friends are together? How would that even follow to the two of them being on errantry? It’s not as if that’s a secret to the Lone One in any case, and they’re as good as the same thing these days. No, this is about you—you being too afraid to tell your friends the truth.”

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. “Well, maybe you should stay here, then,” she said. “As it’s plain you don’t really trust anything I say.”

“I trust you,” said Luna, sounding exhausted. “It’s you who needs to work on that.”

Hermione’s mouth set in a tight line. “Fine. You’re probably right. You stay here. Wouldn’t want to be _distracted.”_

“Hermione—”

“I can get more done on my own,” said Hermione. “As you said, Harry and Ron have been my best friends longer and I don’t need someone I apparently can’t _trust.”_ She felt a surge of horror as soon as the words left her mouth.

Luna’s eyes filled with tears, but her face froze in effort not to let them loose. “Okay,” she said, voice dull. “If you ever do need me, look me up. I’m in the book.” She shouldered past her, the door clicking closed behind her.

Hermione stared at the door, eyes wide. “What—what did I just do?”

In the Room of Lost Things, there was none to answer her.

~*~

Hermione ran over broken masonry, felled suits of armour, and bodies.

Far too many bodies. Hogwarts was like a warped shadow of the welcoming place it had been, like those mirror dimensions she’d read about in the manual that the Lone Power had caught, claimed for Its own, and twisted. With every corner they turned, every corridor littered with slashed portraits and shards of window glass, smoke from a dozen curses hanging in the air, she was only reminded of the wrongness.

She swallowed, gritting her teeth and tightening her grip on Ron’s hand, glancing back to make sure he still had hold of Harry’s. They’d had to take the Cloak off, as it had become splattered with debris, and anyway in the crush of duelling people there was too much risk of it snagging on something and getting lost. Under her breath, she whispered the most basic of the Speech’s invisibility spells and felt it settle over the three of them. _Is this what you wanted me with them for? To protect them from this?_ She wanted to think she was addressing Luna, but there was none of the echoing presence in her thoughts that indicated Luna was listening. She would be lucky if Luna ever listened to her again.

As they reached the entrance hall, the heavy front doors flew open to a sea of furry scurrying bodies, pouring over the stone floor like a carpet and spreading themselves up the walls, blotting out the vaulted ceiling to dangle from the chandelier. _Acromantulas_ , she realized grimly, and reached for her manual.

In her distraction, she failed to notice Ron jerk compulsively away from the oncoming rush. He’d always hated spiders. His hand, still grasping her wrist, jarred Hermione’s arm and her manual went tumbling to the floor. “No—!” she cried, stepping backward with Ron’s tug and landing badly on a chunk of marble that had been blasted from the staircase. She struggled to her elbows, fighting for breath, looking around wildly for her manual. Behind her, Ron and Harry whirled around again in sudden horror, shouting in warning against the spiders advancing _right toward her—_

And froze, staring open-mouthed. Hermione turned back to see the spiders suddenly sliding off an invisible shield, neatly as water from an oiled canvas. She blinked. She _knew_ that spell. She turned her head to where she could feel its origin: a little knot of the Speech, tied to a name as familiar to her as her own. “Luna?”

Luna kept her hand outstretched as she spoke several more words, manifesting her favourite blasting spell as light around her wrist. She released the spell with another syllable and sent the spiders flying away toward the front doors again, their bodies reeking of burnt fur and ozone. “Luna,” Hermione breathed.

Luna smiled tightly. “Stay focused,” she said. More spiders appeared, battering the shield with their massive fangs, dropping from the ceiling and causing the bubble to bow slightly with the pressure. Luna took several deep breaths before aiming her glowing hand and firing twice, three times, a dozen times more. The spiders scattered. The shield collapsed, and Luna dropped to one knee, spent.

“Luna!” cried Hermione. One of the spiders from the ceiling that had only been dealt a glancing blow had fallen almost directly on top of Luna when the shield gave. Its fangs sank into Luna’s thigh, and she screamed.

_“Reducto!”_

Ron lowered his shaking wand arm, as the Acromantula was blasted away. Hermione staggered to her feet, snatching her manual and lurching over to where Luna lay.

She paged frantically through her manual. She’d never been confident with these sorts of spells, but there was no help for it now. Her mind flashed back to the basilisk, to Nagini, and she screwed up her face against the tears, refusing to feel that powerless again. _“Come on, help me out here!”_ she snapped at the book, and it obligingly opened to the section on healing wizardries. She scanned over a likely one and grimaced. “Harry, have you got a knife?”

“What?” said Harry. “Hermione, what are you—?”

“Something sharp,” she said. “Ron? Either of you got a knife?”

“What are you _doing_ , Hermione?” said Ron.

She growled in frustration. “Never _mind!”_ Her eyes raked over the stone floor until she caught sight of a tell-tale glimmer. She pointed her wand at it. _“Accio!”_

“Hermione, stop!”

She ignored their shouts and dragged the shard of glass across her own thigh, hissing as it drew blood. She read out the spell as fast as she could, keeping a tight grip on Luna’s leg, sweat pouring down her face. Luna was breathing shallowly, passed out from the pain, but at least she was breathing.

Hermione gulped and pressed her leg to Luna’s, wincing as she pulled the cut wider. She ran her finger down the page as she read the lines in the manual, forcing herself not to skip words as the spell propelled her with its own consuming impatience. The pain suddenly clamped on her leg like a vice and she fought it, wanted to scream and couldn’t. The spell had taken hold of her now, and there was nothing for it but to keep reading. Her eyes burned as she felt the jaws in her leg, the poison pumping into Luna’s wound. _There it is,_ she thought distantly as she finally caught the edge of the pain, as she reached the last words in the Speech and felt the spell take.

“Hermione!”

She opened her eyes again to find Ron’s hand on her shoulder, Harry facing away from them, wand held rigid in a Shield Charm. “What did you do?” said Ron.

She shook her head, struggling to sit up. Her leg had closed to a faint silver line. She reached forward, turning over Luna to see the faded remnant of the bite, two pale marks of newly healed skin. She licked her lips. “Luna?”

There was no reply, only a little sigh, as if she were in a deep sleep. Hermione gave a sigh of her own, reaching for her manual again and trying to get back in the sensation of having limbs after the trance of the healing spell.

“I see some little birdie’s flown its cage.”

Hermione’s head jerked up with fresh adrenaline, recognizing the rough voice.

It was Selwyn, the Death Eater who had tortured Luna’s father. He removed his mask, revealing an unshaven face bared in a cruel grin. “And after I went to all that trouble to put her in it in the first place. Seems I’ll have to rectify that.” His eyes shifted to Harry. “And the Boy Who Lived! How lucky for me that I can deliver you to my Lord.”

Harry kept his wand trained on him. “Just try it.”

Selwyn smiled at him. Then his wand flicked, in a eye blink to Luna’s limp form. _“Crucio!”_

Hermione was moving before she was even aware of it, her fingers closing on the lightning bolt charm from her beaded bag. She closed her eyes and screamed the Speech trigger.

She hadn’t thought she would use the spell. She’d built it because she knew the stakes, because Luna had told her and she had seem them herself, even back when Dumbledore was still alive and she and Luna had been as happy as they’d ever been with the war hanging ever-present above them. She’d built it, but she couldn’t help but hesitate as she did, to create something so powerful, that counted its fuel not in mere physical exhaustion but in years of personal lifespan. But here in the moment she lost all hesitation.

The Entrance Hall exploded with light, bright as the sun, white as a Patronus. They shielded their eyes, as Selwyn was blown backward out the front doors and toward the grounds and Hermione was left still clutching the blackened charm in her right hand, spots flaring before her vision.

Ron finally spoke, cutting the echoes of Speech ringing in the air. “Hermione—what you just did—”

“That was impossible!” said Harry, and he was beginning to look angry at her, as she had always known he would. Her heart lurched.

“I _had_ to, Harry,” she said, cradling the unconscious Luna and stroking her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry I kept it a secret from you, but I had to.”

“But _how_?” said Harry. “You can’t shield against an Unforgivable, Hermione!”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Actually, you can,” she said. Then, more quietly: “If you pay the price.” She shook as she forced herself to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. At first, I just didn’t know you that well, and later . . .” She gulped. “I’m sorry.”

Harry’s face softened. He shook his head. “I—I always thought . . . back in first year, when we were in the room with all the potions to get the Stone. I dunno, I suppose I thought that day you were doing some sort of advanced magic that you’d got out of some book. Didn’t seem worth dwelling about. But you weren’t, were you? Just like in Malfoy Manor. You were doing whatever this is.”

Hermione smiled, raggedly. “In a way, it was some sort of magic I’d got out of a book,” she said. “Only—it was also a bit more than just that.”

There was a soft groan as Luna stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Hermione,” she croaked, and Hermione’s fingers stroked her head. “Did you just—?”

“She saved you,” said Harry. “And us, though I still don’t really understand how.”

“Just wait, Harry, Ron,” said Luna, fighting to get the words out. “We can explain it to you. This will be over soon enough—I can see it.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught the implications of that. Then he gave a firm nod, and Luna’s eyes closed again with exhausted sleep.

“Hermione?” said Ron, voice taut with something more than just her revelation. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any more where that came from?”

A fresh stream of spiders flowed through the ruined front doors, moving with a synchronized purpose they hadn’t possessed before, as if guided by invisible strings.

Then Hermione heard that horrible voice in her head, the one she’d first heard on her Ordeal, and which had been stalking her with increasing closeness lately as she’d neared the Horcruxes, isolated from Luna.

 _I did say you would only get them killed,_ said the Lone Power. _It’s always nice to see one’s efforts come to fruition. Not least because you mortals always look so surprised when it happens. Whenever will you learn?_

Hermione gritted her teeth. _Why don’t You come here and say that? Or are You afraid to lose Your own mortal body if You do?_

“If you insist.”

And suddenly, It was there, air folding nonchalant and sudden around Its—His—pressed black silk robes, hands resting idly on the spiders’ backs. He was a handsome young man with a wave of auburn hair swept over His high forehead and a look of cold smugness on His face. He reminded Hermione of all of Harry’s descriptions of the young Tom Riddle: poised, confident, unconcerned about petty human lives. None seeing Him could mistake Him for one of their own.

Ron grasped her shoulder as the Lone Power stepped out of thin air. “Hermione. Who is _that?”_

She shook her head. “Someone you never want to meet.” She tightened her grip on Luna’s shoulders and raised her voice. “I’d offer the standard greetings and defiance, only I’d hope they’re rather understood at this point.”

“They always are,” He said. “Straight to business it is, then.”

She closed her fingers around the lightning charm. “You mean the business where You get pounded back to whatever dimension You crawled out of?”

He smiled. “Bold words. But you’re spent and you know it, so let’s not lie to ourselves. Bad form for a wizard.” He nodded at the dull black charm. “Your spell’s drained of its virtue, and I don’t think your little mortal body is ready to pick up the slack. Nor is your partner’s. Think she’ll bounce back from another bite? I could ask My friends here to find out.” His lip curled. “Of course, I could take your surrender now if you’d rather. Turning wizards is always so much more satisfying than killing them.”

“Hermione—” said Ron slowly, edging to stand in front of her and raising his wand at the Lone One.

She drew in a sharp breath. “No!” she said to him, to both of them. “Get back. He’ll kill you without a thought.” She raised her hands before her, letting herself open up to a flow of words she’d read in the manual years ago. “I’ll handle this.”

There was a well of energy just beyond her reach, one she’d felt after reading about it in the manual, that she’d never had the courage to reach for, afraid of the consequences. She reached for it now.

She spoke the words, words she’d once read in the manual and that wizardry itself was whispering to her now. There was one torch still left burning in the Entrance Hall, though spiders and spell blasts had destroyed all the others. She described it. Two floors away, a cluster of students were casting Flamethrower Hexes at a phalanx of Death Eaters. She described those. On the seventh floor, the eerie shapes outlined in Crabbe’s Fiendfyre were still smouldering. She described them, and felt them draw themselves into her.

All around the castle she sought heat and combustion and described them all, the flow of words almost too fast for her to comprehend. She recited lines about oxidation, about hungry heat that craved air to fuel it, and the thin streams of smoke that fled from the light.

She’d never before given thought to the signs that had been leading her to this point. She’d gravitated toward the fireplace as a child, had been shooed away from burning candles by her anxious mother. She’d always preferred summer of all the seasons, and always took far too easily to the spells of light, warmth, _transformation._ Yet even now a small voice within what she was invoking was asking her, _Are you sure? Really sure?_

She was. And so she described the stubborn points that were the floating candles of the Great Hall, the ragged remains of spell fire left burning on the castle grounds, the anticipatory tips of wands just before the spells were spoken, even the sullen flames lit beneath cauldron bottoms where, deep in the castle dungeons someone, probably Slughorn, had left them still burning before joining the battle.

She spoke the hissing sound of fire meeting water, as by the lakeshore the Acromantulas were being blasted back to the shallows. She spoke the electric crackle of curses eagerly seeking their targets, the thousands of torches and candles gulping their fuel. She spoke that fire Luna had seen within her, because Luna was always good at that, seeing the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Fire was never patient, but that was all right, because neither was Hermione.

She spoke them all into herself until she reeled, dizzy with the sensation of all that roaring force within her and for a moment she lost count of herself. She wasn’t Hermione anymore, she was light and heat and _purpose_ and now all of it was focused on that dark smug shape in front of her.

 _“Be so warned by me,”_ she said, and it was hiss and snap, thick with smoke and spark. _“Desist, or be banished, Fallen Aethyr.”_ It was one of the older formal phrasings against the Lone Power, but the source had fed it to her as easily as the fire, and she relished the taste of it on her tongue.

The Lone One sneered. “You wouldn’t dare. You won’t come back yourself if you do. Your partner, your precious friends will lose you, one way or another.”

“They’ll be lost if I _don’t_ ,” she said, and spoke the last syllables: her name in the Speech, with a new addendum she’d forged herself, only moments before. Then the power released, and she lost herself in a world of burning white.

~*~

She stuck close to Luna as the battle intensified, trying not to think about whatever Harry was doing alone in Dumbledore’s office. Luna was awake now but still weak, and she wasn’t about to take any chances.

When Hagrid brought Harry’s limp form back from the forest Hermione closed her eyes against the sudden rush of icy dread. She waited for the Lone Power to appear as It never failed to, triumphant—

 _Wait,_ said Luna, grabbing her arm. _I think I can see where this is going._

Hermione stilled. They waited, until dawn broke.

~*~

They sat together on the Astronomy Tower, amazingly one of the few high spots in the castle not to be reduced to rubble in the battle. In the distance, thestrals swooped down by the lake to pick at pieces of Acromantulas, poking through broken tree branches and debris. The day inched slowly toward sunset, the castle’s inhabitants settling down again after their weary careful movements following Voldemort’s death.

Hermione broke the silence first. “So, you were completely right.”

Luna lifted her head from where it had been resting on Hermione’s shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione. “I should have told them a long time ago. About the wizardry—and about us.” She shook her head and laughed a little. “I don’t even know why I made such a big deal about it. Harry seemed to already know—well, not about the wizardry obviously, you saw that much, but—about us. Didn’t even seem to think it was a big deal.”

“And Ron?”

Hermione shrugged. “He seems all right with it. Though he’s going through a lot right now, you know, since . . . his brother died. If he’s going to have much of a reaction about it, it’ll probably wait till later.” She sighed. “But you were right. All this secrecy, it wasn’t really about Voldemort. I tried to convince myself it was, but really I was just scared. Thanks for making sure at least one of us was honest.”

“We’re none of us perfect,” said Luna softly. “At least we both made it through.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent again for a while longer, as the sun dipped closer to the horizon and the thestrals took off, crying shrilly, toward their home in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione felt herself drifting toward sleep. Like everyone else at Hogwarts, she’d spent all of the previous night awake and flooded with adrenaline. Now she was feeling an exhaustion she hadn’t felt since her Ordeal.

Luna’s voice came at last, so quietly she almost missed it: “What will you do now?”

Hermione blinked, returning to the present. “What will I do?”

“Yes.” Luna sat up a little to prop herself on one elbow. “I know Harry and Ron have talked about becoming Aurors.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had time to think about it.” Neither Harry nor Ron had ever asked _her_ about this Auror idea, but now the prospect of more fighting and death made her stomach turn. “I missed my N.E.W.T.s in all of this. I suppose I ought to actually take my seventh year and figure it out.”

“I think a lot of us will be doing that,” said Luna. “The Powers know _I_ haven’t learned very much this year; I don’t think I’d be any better prepared for my next one.”

Hermione paused, not sure how to say the next part that waited in the air between them, real and intangible as a spell. “What will you do?”

Luna licked her lips. “Probably the same thing you’re doing.”

Hermione nodded, and opened her palm. Quickly, too easily, a flame hovered above it without her really needing to think about it. “I’m worried, too, Luna,” she said. “This—this isn’t normal. It’s dangerous. You know about what happens to elemental mages. This is not going to rest, living like this inside me.”

“Everything that’s worth it is at least a little bit dangerous,” said Luna. “You did what was necessary, and whatever the consequence are, we’ll face them.”

Hermione looked up sharply and the flame snuffed out. _“We_ will?”

“If you still need a partner.”

“I always will,” said Hermione thickly. “But I don’t know if I can just be partners with you. I think—I think if you wanted to—we could try again. I mean, if you can trust me. I hope you can.”

Luna’s smile flashed bright in the dying light of the sun. “I’ve always been able to trust you, Hermione.”

“Good,” said Hermione. She pulled Luna to her, and as they came together, her mind whispered, _It’s mutual._


End file.
